


Honeycombe Lover

by OctaviaPeverell



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctaviaPeverell/pseuds/OctaviaPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> In the dark, heady bedroom, L traces the imprints left on Light's back and ponders on how they form the elaborate map that led them to where they are now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeycombe Lover

Honeycombe Lover

Long spindly fingers trace the lines imprinted in pink on warm skin. He had just turned over, revealing the marks left on his bare back by the rumpled sheets and the creases in the strewn pillows. Those rosy trails were as defined and elaborate as the path that brought the two of them here.

There were fading scars on the skin – a sign that even Yagami Light had not escaped the hormonal frenzy that took place in those long stages of adolescence and puberty. He was human. And alive. And very much real. It confirmed the ashen eyed man that the days spent in a semi-delirious state, in the midst of a thick, sweaty crowd while passing time, actually existed. It confirmed that rolling nights of thunder under sheets the colour of heat and passion were actually enacted and not just a wishful story created by the mind to trick and tease.

The younger man's breathing was slow, a hum in the background of the room, soft and gentle to the ear, reminding L of warm winter nights, nestled underneath layers of blankets, toes curled and limbs tangled in a fuzzy twisting of pyjama bottoms to evade the outside cold. Of laboured exhalations after a fight with the door between them and two forms seated, slumped over, either side of that plank of wood that seemed more like a vast ocean separating them. Of a once upon a time when trust was a brittle thing between the two and death seemed to be waiting wherever one turned.

How had they come to this – whatever this was –?

The details were stacked away neatly in the compartments of L's mind, ready to be pulled out and opened and scryed and analysed again and again. The time wasn't now however, as far as practicality went, especially considering the hazy drowsiness that had suddenly overcome his brain, sending his lids a milligram heavier than before, long, skinny limbs falling limply and heavily as sleep begged to be granted to his deprived form.

Still, Light slept on, the natural phenomenon that was his namesake, blocked out completely by the heavy, dark blinds and the even darker curtains in front of them, making sure that all likely disturbances had been hindered in the hours before, when they had first fumbled their way into their bedroom. This one hadn't seen the light of day in…

Their bodies had taken their toll from the three nights lacking sleep and even the dark haired detective was starting to feel the after-effects, even if he did manage to hold it off a few hours longer than his lover who seemed to melt back into the mattress, contently as his honey eyes threatened to close, the only remnants of the earlier pleasure evident through that mischievous twinkle as they gazed at each other, before his sugary orbs closed entirely and he had succumbed to a sweet slumber. Maybe succumb wasn't the right word; surrendered would probably be a great deal more suitable since the young man didn't even try to evade his sleep.

That had been annoying, since L knew he would be left to his own devices, to be perverse and obsessive all by himself in the quiet of the room with nothing else to attend to him, except the knowledge that outside, the sun was setting, leaving the city to warm nights of debauchery and tactless traipses and trysts. And somehow, their misfortune just made him feel all the more smug at his luck and that male pride swelled in his chest as he pressed his lips possessively onto a shoulder blade, resting his cheek there and allowing his lids to slide down in lieu with the setting sun.

_You still haven't fallen asleep?_

The murmur was soft and muffled and half-present as the golden haired boy posed his question into his pillow, not bothering to open his eyes for they were still seeing dreams and darkness.

L made a small, noise in answer.

From the light vibrations that he felt run through the young man's back, like the deep trills of a cello, a small smile curved his lips as the man under him chuckled noiselessly, ripples of laughter bouncing silently in the room and easing the raven head into a more peaceful shade of quiet and calm. Somehow, Light always managed to do that without even trying, without being fully coherent as one might put it.

_Go to…sleep…_

Even in the smoggy state of not-sleep, Light still managed to sound as convincing as ever, like a reassuring voice with a level and tone that closely resembled something of a comforting ray of sunlight – minus the overused pun in L's clogged brain – that danced across one's eyes before disappearing a few minutes later as the sun melted behind the urban skyline. Maybe it was the warmth, L conceded, in the man's voice; the familiarity of that mercurial emotion that teetered on the brink of brusque during any other time other than when they were alone, truly alone…like this.

Like this…

_How did we end up like this?_

The question left his lips as a whisper, not unkind or spiteful but simply posed as it was: a question.

Tawny lashed fluttered gently, the eyes that they belonged to squinting briefly and laced with amusement.

_Because it wouldn't work any other way._

Ah, that sounded right, and it settled a sense of calm in L's chest, sending him closer towards the door of sleep.

_Mm…good…answer…_

The rise and fall of the chest beneath him slinked to a slow, mellow rate, a lullaby to L's ears, a delicate rocking to his body and a free passport to the depths of slumber.

_I…am always…right…_

The famous detective, with only a letter for a name to most, agreed with his honeycombe lover, delighting in the way his voice dripped like the drowsy drops of that viscous, yellow nectar, as it burned down the throat and tingled the spot that made one's lips curve upwards and one's eyes drift deeper into the mind.

And his own face and hair left marks on the younger man's back, intertwining with the earlier ones, creating new passages and new routes that led to everywhere and nowhere, that led to the future, and showed the past and lurked around the present and went around and back again.

It was unclear where they would eventually end, or if they would at all, because by the time morning came, the marks would have faded and the slate would be clean again, like sand after high tide, ready for the next night…and the next…and the next…


End file.
